Braving a business shindig full of men in suits might not be Louisa Peacock's
idea of fun, but at least she got to have a giggle at the gargantuan queue
for the gents.

So rarely do men have to queue to use the lavatories that when it happens, it is always a pleasure for me to witness. It's just one of those little things in life that makes the day go better, such as when someone gives up their seat for you on the tube, or you find 50p on the street. Yep, it doesn't take much to please me.

The first time I saw men queuing for the loo, I was at a 1920s jazz nightin a Brixton concert hall. Random I know. It was a posh and strange affair with many people in their twenties and thirties "dressed up" in vintage clothes (it wasn't a fancy dress night) and pretending to live in a bygone era. It felt like we'd gone back in time and yet nobody would admit it, carrying on as if this was the most normal of Friday nights. Polite queues formed at the bar, and very polite queues formed at the ladies lavatories. In keeping with the presumed etiquette of yesteryear, the women with vintage dresses and hats were whispering and giggling and queuing patiently for the loos, presumably to "powder one's nose" rather than take a dump.

Then pure gold happened. Just down the hallway, the men's queue began to form, to much disgust of the male punters. Along they came in their sweaters, short trousers and brogues (some just looked way too authentic; do they get out much?) and they huffed and puffed at the sight of a queue to use the lavatory. The look of disbelief and disappointment on their faces was a picture. Some didn't know what to do, one actually said, "oh for f___s sake". Not very mannerly.

One 30-ish bloke complete with a fake pipe in his mouth, stormed off in protest. Perhaps he was to learn the art of holding it in; more likely he let his guard down and went for a whizz round the back of the hall in a very laddish Friday-night-on-the-lash sort of way. The 1920s civilised facade abandoned in favour of a basic human need.

The male queues were so rare it became the talk of the night. "I say old chap, did you see the queue for the WC," said one man to another, half joking, half loving the fact he could speak in that silly posh accent about a Very Important Issue.

Indeed, wherever male toilet queues form, it becomes the talk of the night, among both disgruntled men and gleeful women. At a respected business dinner, run by the CBI earlier this week, I turned up early for once to "network" with the crème de la crème of business and academia. Forced networking is not my favourite pastime, especially when I don't know anyone to start with, but I enjoy it once I get into it.

I entered the room in a bright yellow dress to face a sea of suits: dinner jackets, black bow ties and grey hair. I probably should have worn something else, I was easily spotted. Never mind, I was there now. There were literally hundreds of older men, a few younger ones and even fewer women.

The conversations got louder as the bubbles flowed, the air got hotter. I huddled next to a few people I vaguely recognised and began making small talk. How was your day? What sessions did you enjoy? A woman who I'd never met before, standing next to me, blurted out, "I loved seeing the queue for the man's lavatories today".

Brilliant, we have something in common – beyond the fact we were some of the only few women in there. She elaborated on her story, I chuckled and shared her glee and we immediately hit it off. The men in our little "circle" didn't seem to see why it was so funny.

The male: female split in that room must have been about 90:10, 80:20 at a push. That made her lavatory story all the more funnier. It is good to find humour about something which is so blatantly wrong with the upper echelons of the business world today: the sheer lack of women in senior positions and present at big business dinners.

The queue for the ladies at this dinner, incidentally, was practically non-existent. *Pure Gold*.